


That's Why I Hold You Dear

by withmyradio



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Angst, Dubious Consent, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Pragmatic Rey, Virgin Kylo Ren
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-18
Updated: 2016-02-18
Packaged: 2018-05-21 11:26:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6049924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withmyradio/pseuds/withmyradio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU where the First Order never tries to destroy the Resistance base and Rey remains Kylo Ren’s prisoner.</p>
<p>“If this has to happen she’d prefer it to happen like this, soft and quiet, his voice low and fathomless eyes oddly gentle.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	That's Why I Hold You Dear

_don't turn away_

_& leave me to plead_

_in this hole of a place_

_cause what if I never break?_

~><~

Consciousness seeps into her mind slowly, bringing with it the sensation of fingers combing through her hair, brushing her cheek. Rey doesn’t betray her awakening. She keeps her eyes closed, her breathing steady. Even with all his power, all his ability to know things he shouldn’t know, things she doesn’t want him knowing, he doesn’t notice her ruse. He wants to believe she is asleep and she makes it easy for him.

She feels him shift, feels him leaning over her, and his fingers trail from her cheek to rub softly at her lower lip. He isn’t shielding himself as he should, but even without his thoughts bleeding out of him through the Force she’d know he wants to kiss her, just from that touch alone. He wants a lot of things.

Over the course of a decade or more the vengeful desert sun of Jakku has burned the softness out of her, evaporated it into thin air. She is pragmatic, and she survives. What cannot be avoided must be endured. She doesn’t think she can avoid this.

Allowing her eyelids to flutter softly, she raises them as though being roused from sleep. Kylo Ren is unmasked, kneeling at her bedside and looking down into her face. His own is seemingly stoic, but his dark eyes are so wide and deep and his thumb remains pressed to her lip, nudging at the seam of her mouth. She can feel the desire pouring from him as if from an open wound, his longing violent even though he is still.

No, it cannot be avoided.

“It’s alright,” he murmurs, though not in response to her thoughts. Rey has learned to barricade her mind from him far more completely than he imagines. She wonders what he would do, otherwise. If he knew how very much she didn’t want this, would he want it still, want to hold her down with the Force and all his physical strength? Hurt her, _make_ her…?  

The electric rage of his need crackles around him. She cannot be sure. It isn’t worth it, she’s already decided, not when she doesn’t know. If this has to happen she’d prefer it to happen like this, soft and quiet, his voice low and fathomless eyes oddly gentle.

He leans forward hesitantly and kisses her the same, his hand now cupping her face to keep her still for him. His mouth is pressed awkwardly to hers, unmoving, as though he doesn’t really understand what a kiss is or should be. Maybe he doesn’t. The nervousness she can feel in him, hiding under everything else, makes her think he’s never done any of this before.

She parts her lips on a sigh and he seems to figure something out, responds with a little pressure and slips his tongue into her mouth. His hand buries itself in her hair and tightens painfully as he loses himself in the kiss, tasting her with enthusiasm if not finesse. There’s too much tongue. Rey thinks she might choke on it. To prevent such an undignified end, she caresses it with hers, showing him what to do, and for possibly the first time in his life he follows someone’s lead.

Maybe that’s the mistake, showing him even that much, making the experience even the smallest bit less unpleasant. Maybe that’s what puts the first fractures in her detachment. Little details begin to creep in, things she’s feeling rather than observing, rather than enduring, things like his breath soft and teasing on her cheek and the warmth of him above her.

Things like the feel of him, the taste of him, his excitement and longing and fear all surrounding her until she is almost dizzy with it. His hands are everywhere, large and heavy and warm and awkward. He rests them on her face, her shoulders, her throat just long enough for it to feel like a threat, before sliding them down and cupping her breasts through the tunic she sleeps in.

It belongs to him. It smells of him, and that has always made her uncomfortable, never more so than now.

He groans into her mouth when her nipples pebble, against her will, under his palms. With dawning horror she recognizes that it feels good, that the friction is bringing her body to life under his touch, but that is against her will too. She doesn’t want this. She doesn’t want to feel it, doesn’t want to react to it. Doesn’t want to enjoy it.

It doesn’t matter. Her limbs are moving independent of her command, her control surrendering to instinct as she lifts her hips and feels his excitement pressing firmly against her, feels herself flood with pleasure at the contact. The spike in his arousal reaches her through the Force and she hears it in his gasp. He moves above her and she hates herself for the gasp she gives in return. This is not… There have been others, other unavoidable things she has endured and survived and it’s fine, it’s all fine, but this is… Unexpected. More than she’s known before.

She hates it.

For a moment he lowers his face to the crook of her neck, breathing deeply against her shoulder, his lips on her pulse sending sweet shivers through her, and then he’s pulling away, looking down at her in a darkness so complete she can’t see him, so complete that he’s a part of it.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he says, softly, then, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

But they’re not the same thing, really. She wants to open her mind to him, wants to show him her hatred and aversion and make the words _Don’t do this_ echo in his head like they’re his own… But she can’t, because that’s not what he’d feel, or not only. She doesn’t want him to touch her. She also doesn’t want him to stop.

He doesn’t. He wouldn’t even if she asked him to, or so she tells herself, despite the sincerity in his low voice before. And even if – Ah, even if, she’d regret it, regret the loss of his callused hands on her bare legs, grabbing at the hem of his tunic on her and raising it up past her waist. Something burns in her then, something like desire and humiliation both, when she realizes how wet she is, how wet he’ll find her for him.

But hesitation slows him again. As with his kiss, she realizes he has no idea what to do. His fingers draw restless circles on her lower belly, leaving heat in their wake, and she can almost hear him trying to talk himself into sliding them lower. She assumes he finally makes a convincing argument because his hand eventually slips between her legs, but he pulls away as though burned after barely touching her.

She can feel his unadulterated shock at her slickness, her heat. His confusion, and his mindless all-encompassing need.

“ _Rey_ ,” he curses, or that’s what it sounds like. “You’re so… I – You – I want –”

“I know what you want,” she can’t stop herself from whispering, because she does. He wants to be as deep inside her body as she has been inside his mind, wants to sink to the very heart of her and discover her most secret fear as she did his. He wants to hold her down, wants this act to be about controlling her, when really it’s about not being able to control himself – or anything else.

He feels things for her, she realizes. Things he shouldn’t, things that flow through the Force from him to her and make her wonder how he stands it, always being torn apart. Sometimes he can’t. Sometimes he dreams of coming to her, just like this, and tonight it was too much.

While she’s realizing all of this, he’s fumbling with his clothes. He’s weighed down with layers and he can’t be bothered to remove them, can barely be bothered to free himself from whatever it is he wears under his robes – she’s never noticed and certainly never asked. But then his cock is hot and hard and ready at her entrance, probing bluntly, and she’s so completely soaked that he hardly needs to thrust before he’s buried in her.

She inhales sharply because she’s tight and he’s big and it _hurts_ , and he inhales sharply because she’s tight and he’s big and it doesn’t hurt _at all_. That comes to her clearly through the Force, or through the bond they share, or both because it’s all one. He’s dazed by how good she feels. He’s desperate to thrust again and again but knows if he does it will be over. He’s angry, unreasonably angry, to realize that she may be his first but he is not hers.

When he moves at last the reason is simple: he can’t help it. She wraps her legs around his slim hips because she can’t help it either. It hurts but in a sweet way, a way so gentle-sharp it’s almost pleasure, and it ignites in her veins as he moves. His thrusts are graceless and without rhythm and it doesn’t matter because he’s already coming inside her, finished before he’s barely begun. As she knew he would be. As he knew he would be. The heat of his release fills her as he pants in her ear, moaning her name now more like a prayer than the curse it was before. She is still drawn tight, unsatisfied, unfinished, but suffused with warmth and something else, something profound she cannot name.

This isn't what she thought it would be. She's not what she thought she was. But what then? She stares into the darkness of the ceiling above her and wonders.

Not a victim, certainly. She never has been. She’s a survivor, that’s all, even now, especially now. Yet she’s also somehow a lover, somehow running her fingers through his hair the way he had with hers, the way that started all this trouble. She’s… Not disgusted, not like she should be, by his seed filling her.

She still hates him, and hates it, if only for the fact that having him inside her this way has confused her more than having him inside her head ever did.

Kylo Ren collapses on top of her, heart pounding so hard in his chest that she can feel it against her own, lungs expanding with impressive violence, and Rey knows he thinks that something beautiful has happened. She thinks he’s wrong but also thinks he’s right.

And she hates that too. 

~><~

 

(Title from _Lights_  by Interpol. Inspired by [this kickass fanmix](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2F8tracks.com%2Fsugar-blind%2Fwhat-if-i-never-break&t=ZWE1MzU2NWI5MjIyOWIzOTZkYjNlZTI4ZWVjMTAyZjI2MzM4YmY1ZixHSjVoTWY0TA%3D%3D).)

**Author's Note:**

> kylo-rey-all-day-erry-day.tumblr.com


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